


Linger

by orphan_account



Series: Falling Differently [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been so long since someone has stepped in and done something for him - something simple but tedious that he is more than capable of doing himself - that he isn’t entirely sure how to react. Eventually, though, he remembers his manners, shaking his head at himself. “Well, thanks. I didn’t expect you to do that.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Linger

**Author's Note:**

> You lucky ducks get three parts in one day, because I actually managed to accomplish something this week. Granted, it wasn't what I was supposed to be writing, but any work is good work, right? No? Never mind.

Upon waking, Stiles knows that he has not slept anywhere near long enough. The living room is dark, with only a night light by which to see his surroundings. Since the werewolves see well enough in the dark, Stiles decides there must be at least one or two humans in the Hale pack. The presence of the dim little light reassures him, and he almost closes his eyes to try and catch a little more sleep before morning and the subsequent inquisition. He feels Isaac shifting against him though, working up to a good wail, and realizes it’s long past the time to make the baby a bottle. Stiles may be able to go for hours without eating, but Isaac cannot, nor should he ever have the need. 

Glancing around the room, Stiles searches for his backpack. When he finds it, he sees that Derek has stayed to watch over them. The beta sits in a chair facing Stiles and Isaac, with Stiles’s belongings kept on the floor at his feet. He nods at Isaac, asking lowly, “What does he need?”

Trying to keep his own voice muted, Stiles replies, “He’s hungry. I’ve been keeping his stuff in the middle pouch of my back pack. Think you can get his formula, a bottle, and a burp rag out for me?”

“Sure,” is what Derek tells him, but Stiles gets the impression he wants to say something else, most likely pertaining to the fact that Stiles has been storing his stash of dangerous herbs and ashes in the same place as Isaac’s only food supply. Where else would he have put it, though? He’d needed to have everything contained in something portable that could be close to hand at all times, and also allow him to keep Isaac in the sling - which he realizes violates about a million child safety laws, but better to do that than get caught by the hunters and find himself unable to get to the baby fast enough because he was strapped into a car seat in the back of the jeep. Stiles resolves not to react to Derek’s apparent judgment. Mobility had been of the essence while he packed their things, and he had been as careful as he could be. Considering that he and Isaac reached the Hales relatively unscathed, Stiles is going to consider the endeavor a success.

“How many ounces does he take?” The question breaks Stiles out of his thoughts, and he refocuses upon Derek, who is standing way closer than he had been two minutes prior.

“Mmm?” Stiles blinks at him slowly. “Oh! Um, I always make four, but he usually only drinks about three. He’s probably starving right now, though, so he may drink the whole thing.”

Derek nods and then begins to walk away. 

“Wait, what are you doing?”

Turning back, Derek gives him a look that questions his intelligence loudly and with severe derision. “I’m going to make Isaac a bottle,” he explains, his words insultingly slow.

Slumping back against the couch, Stiles goggles. It’s been so long since someone has stepped in and done something for him - something simple but tedious that he is more than capable of doing himself - that he isn’t entirely sure how to react. Eventually, though, he remembers his manners, shaking his head at himself. “Well, thanks. I didn’t expect you to do that.”

Isaac chooses that moment to begin protesting his hunger louder, and Derek nods at him. “I know where the kitchen is. You don’t. And he sounds like he can’t wait too much longer.”

With that, Derek leaves the room, and Stiles hauls himself up to bounce Isaac a little, taking care not to bump into anything in the meager light. He feels a slight twinge in his leg, and he shifts it around experimentally, noting that the wound must have been dressed at some point while he was sleeping. It doesn’t feel all that great to be bouncing Isaac on it, but if it prevents the babe from waking the entire house, Stiles can live with a little discomfort. They have put the Hales out enough already for one night. 

The walking helps for a little while, but then Isaac starts to become inconsolable, his little voice rising. Just as Stiles worries that over a dozen angry werewolves are going to troop into the living room and ask why he can’t get this one thing right, Derek walks in with the bottle held out in offering. Stiles seizes it gratefully, noting that the contents feel just warm enough, and slips the nipple into Isaac’s demanding little mouth.

Sighing in relief, Stiles looks up at Derek. “Thanks, man. Isaac is probably one of the best babies ever; he hardly ever cries, he doesn’t have acid reflux, never had colic. But when he gets hungry, it’s all over. It’s like those stupid Snickers commercials, you know?”

Huffing a laugh, Derek’s lips twist up in a here-one-moment-gone-the-next smile. “It’s fine.” He walks back to his chair and sinks down into it with a grace Stiles cannot help but envy. He has spent his entire life around werewolves, and it never gets any easier to accept the gangly awkwardness of his own limbs.

Still, he is already more than ready to be off of his feet again, so he follows Derek’s lead and returns to his place in the couch. He looks down at the little boy in his arms, sucking away at his bottle with droopy-eyed contentment, and he feels his own beginning to slide shut in exhausted empathy. He manages to wait until Isaac has pulled the final drops of formula from the bottle, though he struggles. After setting aside the bottle, he works one good burp from his charge and then eases back into the welcoming cushions of the couch, and together, they drift back into slumber.

Across the room, Derek sits and keeps watch, making sure that both child and guardian remain safe.


End file.
